Darkest Before Dawn
by Blossomwitch
Summary: AU see inside for more warnings. Legolas disappeared during the battle of Helm's Deep and a year later it is up to Gimli to find him. Based on a plot bunny by Cheysuli.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This fic has been discontinued for awhile, I didn't post it on before because it deals with some pretty serious issues including rape. Now that this is my main posting area for my fic, I thought I'd add it here. I am finally after more than a year continuing with it. I hope you all enjoy. And remember, you have been warned: angst, noncon, mpreg, interspecies slash, you name it.

Chapter One

Gimli sighed and stared moodily into his tankard. This, of all occasions, should be a happy day--but he could not get into the spirit of things. Today, the long wait for Lord Faramir and Lady Eowyn was finally over. This morning they had been wed in the Golden Hall amongst much rejoicing from both their peoples. And though the happy couple had long since retired, the party held on their behalf was raging on into the night. And yet Gimli, of a people who certainly knew how to enjoy a bit of music and a good pint of ale, was morose.

There were too many memories here. It had been the same when he had gone with Aragorn to escort the hobbits back to their home last fall. The whole journey had been difficult for them all, of course, thinking of those members of their Fellowship who were not with them this time. But when they had arrived at Edoras, Gimli had felt his heart seize up in pain. The last time he had ridden through those gates, it had been on a horse no dwarf should have been riding, clinging desperately to the body of an Elf in front of him--clinging to Legolas.

Edoras had been hard, and Helm's Deep a few days later had been torture. Gimli had not visited the Glittering Caves, though the offer had been made to him. Instead, he had stood on the damaged Deeping Wall, looking out over the battle-scarred fields and letting tears fall, still, after all these months. W_here are you_? his mind kept crying. _You were supposed to be here. What happened to you?_

The battle of Helm's Deep had been the last anyone had seen of Legolas. Gimli knew the others thought him dead, and yet he couldn't quite believe it. Something in his heart told him it wasn't so--and yet he couldn't be sure if that wasn't just because he wanted it to be false so desperately. Legolas had become his best friend in Lorien, and by the time they reached the gates of Helm's Deep Gimli had begun to admit to himself that he was feeling considerably more than friendship for that particular elf. He had wanted to say something to him after the battle, if they both survived. Something to show Legolas how much he cared. He wanted to take Legolas into the caves with him and show the elf what made Gimli's heart beat, show him everything.

And then the elf had disappeared.

One minute Gimli had been shouting his orc-tally over his shoulder to his companion, and the next the tide of battle had swept them away from each other. It had never occurred to Gimli that it might be the last he saw of his friend; he knew Legolas was a superior warrior to most of those there, those who had survived the battle. But when he made his way out of the Glittering Caves at the end of the battle, Legolas was not at Aragorn's side as he had expected him to be. Nor was he with Theoden King. Both of them said they had thought Legolas was with Gimli. Gimli had searched frantically among the surviving soldiers, gone through the camp of the injured where Legolas was no doubt helping out--but there was nothing. Then, fear seizing his heart, he had spent hours amongst the bodies, searching for one with hair like captured sunlight and delicately pointed ears, perhaps with a shattered bow of Lorien across its back. He had been thorough; not one body went to the pit without his checking it first. If his friend, if his heart, was dead he wanted to be sure. Legolas had not been buried in the death-pit.

And yet he did not appear. Gandalf went so far as to ask the Huorns if they had caught sight of an elf within their forest, but the answer was negative. Aragorn counseled Gimli that they could not wait for Legolas, that they must ride with Theoden's men to Isengard. And Gimli went, with a heavy heart, but fully convinced that when they returned they would find a cheekily laughing elf waiting for them--perhaps with a broken leg that had slowed him--chiding them for having an adventure without him and smiling his special smile at Gimli. But elf there was none. Legolas had vanished as though he had never been; as though he had quite suddenly and completely faded away, not even leaving his body behind; as though he had been a dream.

All through the war, Gimli had thought somehow if they could defeat Sauron, Legolas would come back to him. Without really analyzing his own belief he had assumed that when the war was over, they would be reunited and all would be explained. But that deadline, too, had passed, and slowly Gimli had come to the realization that wherever his elf was, he would most likely not be coming back. Realized it, but not yet accepted it.

Aragorn must have noticed Gimli's dark mood, for he was making his way towards Gimli through the crowd. Gimli had chosen a somewhat secluded table in a corner, away from the general merrymaking, and it was taking the popular King of Gondor some effort to make his way through the throng. The long delay in this marriage--the betrothal had become official in August and it was now nearly April--had been largely because of the need of the peoples of both Gondor and Rohan to have a large, formal festival, and as such Faramir had begged Aragorn to perform the wedding ceremony for them. Eowyn had added her pleas and Aragorn had relented, and now he was suffering the consequences--everyone wanting to stop him and tell him what a wonderful job he had done. Finally, though, he managed to politely shake his way free and land with a thump next to Gimli.

"Friend, I wish I could just hide myself in a corner as you do," he said, only half-sincere. "Hand me some ale."

Gimli quirked an eyebrow at him. "Are you sure you can handle dwarven ale?"

Aragorn pretended to look affronted. "I will not deign to respond to that."

Gimli passed him the ale tankard. Aragorn poured some for himself and then glanced around, taking in their relative privacy--only two other men were seated at the long table, and both seemed to be deeply into their cups. "Why haven't you joined the festivities, Gimli?" he inquired lightly.

"I have a hard time feeling festive in this place," Gimli replied, feeling no need to hide what he was going through.

"Why is that?"

Gimli answered with one word. "Legolas."

Aragorn's face was a picture of compassion. "You still miss him."

"I canna help but wonder where he is now," Gimli said softly. "What he's going through. I will never feel right until I know what happened to him in this place."

Aragorn's expression was shifting towards concern. "Surely," he said, "you do not still hold out hope that Legolas lives?"

Gimli stared at him, as surprised by Aragorn's doubt as Aragorn was by his faith. "Aye."

Aragorn's brow furrowed, and he set down the tankard. He knitted his fingers together on his lap, looking rather like one who has just been asked to explain the facts of life to a child. "Gimli," he began, and then stopped, apparently unsure of what to say. Or rather, how to say it. Gimli knew what he wanted to say.

"Aragorn, if there had been a body," he said desperately. "If I had seen his body I could believe it. But I can't. Something tells me it isn't so."

"Often our desires can lead us astray," Aragorn said gently. He had adopted his gentle King-of-Gondor voice, the one that said he knew better than you and would guide those lesser mortals along. It had become an irritating habit since he had taken the throne--and come to think of it, a bit before then as well. "But surely you must know by now."

"No," Gimli said firmly. "I don't know. Something could have happened to him. He could have been injured," he rushed on, aware he was babbling but unable to stop.

"Then why has he not shown himself to us?"

"It could have been too severe for him to move, he could have taken shelter somewhere--"

"Gimli, an injury so severe would have eventually killed him. If it had not he would have found his way back to us by now. Face it, my friend. Legolas is gone."

"He could have been captured," Gimli pressed on frantically, unable to admit to the sense of what Aragorn said.

"But no one escaped from that battle. Gimli," Aragorn exclaimed, laying a hand on his friend's. He waited until Gimli met his eyes, then said clearly, "Legolas is dead. You must accept that."

"No."

"You must."

"I know what you're saying, Aragorn, and I admit you have sense on your side. But my heart tells me he is still living."

Aragorn regarded him levelly and seriously for a moment. "I understand such feelings, Gimli," he said gravely after a while, "but your heart has reason to lie to you in this matter."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I know you were close to him," Aragorn said patiently. "I know how much you cared for him." _No, Aragorn, you don't_, Gimli thought. "He was my friend too. But we have to accept the facts."

Gimli nodded, unwilling to continue the conversation. Aragorn patted him on the shoulder, in an annoyingly paternal fashion. "I know you'll manage to get over it," he said. "Look at Faramir. He lost his whole family in the war but he's moving on."

"I get the point, Aragorn," Gimli said with steel in his voice.

Aragorn seemed to realize he had been pushing the dwarf too far. He nodded. "Well, I'm off to bed then," he said with a sigh. "Presuming I can sneak out." Gimli offered half a smile in response to the jest. "I'll see you in the morning?" Gimli nodded, and Aragorn left.

Gimli stared into the depths of his mug of ale, absently stroking his finger over a rough spot on the handle. He was just drunk enough to wonder morosely if Aragorn was right, if he was letting his love for Legolas misguide him.

_But right or wrong, it doesn't matter_, he realized with sudden clarity. _I am a dwarf; I will never love another all my life. If there is the slightest possibility he is still alive somewhere, I owe it to him and to myself to find him. I will not rest until I_ know.

Gimli was startled out of his sudden firm resolve by a heavy body landing next to his on the bench--much heavier than Aragorn's. He looked up and found that one of the men who had been sitting nearby had come to join him. "Here," said the man without preamble, "I couldn't help overhearin' yer conversation with the King."

"I most sincerely believe that you could," Gimli rumbled. The man spoke with a harsh country accent and had the look of a thief about him. He reeked of alcohol and dirt.

"But I did here ye," the man insisted. "And I think I may know where yer friend is. What's it worth to you to find out?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Gimli stared hard at the man. "You what?" he said blankly.

"I think I may know where yer friend is," the man repeated. "May."

Gimli felt like he had been hit over the head with an anvil. Cautiously, he responded. "If you have any information about my friend, I beg you tell me now."

The man leaned back a little, crossing his arms across his chest. "What is it worth to ye?" he repeated.

Now Gimli understood--it had taken him awhile to understand what the man was after because his brain was so suddenly clouded with thoughts of Legolas. "If your information helps me to find my friend," he promised, "I will pay your price." Gloin would have been disgusted at his son's lack of attempts to drive a bargain, but this was Legolas they were talking about. Even information was worth any price.

The man scratched the side of his nose. "I want payment in gold," he said flatly. "And another thing," he added, as though something had suddenly occurred to him.

"Name it," Gimli said brusquely, irritated at the delay.

The man pursed his lips, took a swig of his ale. Gimli waited impatiently, boring holes in the man with his eyes. The man fidgeted. "Name it," Gimli said again, sternly.

The man fiddled with his ale mug. "Supposing I had seen yer friend," he mumbled. "Supposing I hadn't seen him in what you'd call the best of circumstances. You wouldn't take it out on an old soul like me, would ya, if you thought I shoulda helped him and I didn't."

Gimli felt himself grow hot. "If you've brought any harm to my friend then-"

"Now you promise you're not going to hurt old Billy, or the deal is off."

Gimli gripped the edges of the table hard. He forced himself to take deep breaths. "How about this deal, then," he said mildly. "If you do _not_ tell me everything you know, right now, I will be forced to mar my friend's wedding day with your blood. If you tell me, though, I may be persuaded to give you a head start away from this place. Do not, however, think you can escape from this table if I do not permit you to leave."

Billy paled. He seemed on the verge of telling Gimli, but then he squared his shoulders. "If you kill me for not tellin' you then you still don't know what I do," he said grimly. "It's no use to either of us. Kill me now and you may never know." His words were tough, but his voice was shaking.

Gimli felt anger boiling up in him that this pitiful creature might have harmed Legolas, might have seen harm coming to the elf and not offered aide. "You will have the gold," he said evenly, "and one day's grace. After that day I may consider you fair game--depending on what you have to tell me."

The man scratched the side of his nose. "An' if I don't accept?"

"Then I kill you, now."

The man continued scratching. "Sounds fair," he finally said. "I'll take it."

"Good," Gimli said grimly. He reached into his money pouch and produced enough gold pieces to make the man's eyes widen, laying them on the table. "Twice that when you've done speaking. And you'd best tell me everything."

The man reached out his hand for the gold, but Gimli stayed his motion with a shake of his head. "Talk, now."

"Right." The man leaned forwards conspiratorially, lowering his voice. "There's a town 'bout sixty miles north and west of here in the Dunlands what they call Herthdale. You go there, and you find yourself an inn called the Cat and Cheese. Then you ask abouts the inn for a man by the name of Chezner. Got it so far?" Gimli nodded urgently. "Right then. What you do with Chezner, is you tell him this--gotta remember the exact wording, now. You tell him you got a buddy who said he had new wares from Berkand and that you'd like to take a look at 'em."

"Where on earth is Berkand?" Gimli asked.

The man grinned, revealing teeth in various stages of rotting. "Ain't no such place. It's a code name. You tell him that and follow his lead, and I reckon you'll see your friend before too long."

"Now wait just a minute," Gimli said ominously. "That isn't the deal. You tell me everything, not just enough to send me off half-blind. What is 'Berkand' code for? And what makes you think I'll find my friend in this Herthdale?"

Billy regarded him evenly. "No tricks, now. You give me the gold and one day to get away."

"On my honor," Gimli said grimly. "Tell me what you know."

"Chezner owns the local brothel," the man said bluntly. "Finest whores in Dunland. But he runs a business on the side for folks as wants a little pep in their bed partner--maybe folks who want a partner that ain't willing, if you know my meaning. He's been bragging about ketching himself an Elf during the War. I seen him--blond as they come."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three 

A scant three hours after his encounter Gimli was on the road leading away from Edoras, armed with only the shakiest knowledge of where he was going or what he would do once he got there. His anger and grief were clouding his brain too greatly for him to be able to think properly; he was just acting on instinct.

After releasing Billy from their table with the assurance that if they ever met again it would not be to Billy's advantage, Gimli had sat alone in the dwindling light for some time, too numb with shock to even move. Then he had suddenly lurched to his feet, gathering irritated looks from the people he shoved past as he walked single-mindedly towards his quarters. He had gathered his things automatically, barely aware of what he was putting into his travel pack. Then his rational mind had interceded long enough for him to scrawl a quick note to Aragorn explaining where he had gone, though he wasn't sure if it was comprehensible or not. Some jumble of words about Legolas and a town and a lot of swearing--Aragorn would probably think Gimli had lost his mind. Gimli handed the note to a page with terse instructions to get it to the King and then he was off.

Eomer had already offered Gimli the use, any time he should wish it, of the pony Merry had ridden alongside King Theoden. It was sized for little people to be comfortable with, but Gimli had not taken it. It was one thing to consign his fate to a four-legged beast when Legolas was controlling it, but Dwarves as a rule were at their best with their own two feet planted firmly on the ground. Besides, while Stybba could get him to Herthdale, the pony was not large enough to bear Legolas out of that hated place. So in the end the pony would not be of use.

Gimli didn't allow himself to consider any possible course of events that didn't end with him finding Legolas and removing him from danger. If Legolas did not leave the town of Herthdale, then neither would Gimli. It was that simple.

The empty stretches of land between Edoras and Gimli's goal seemed interminable. He would have undertaken without hesitation any journey, over any distance and through any perils to find Legolas. To have it be so close, so attainable--and yet to be held to the pace of his own two stubby feet. Before long Gimli was regretting the decision, still formed in his anger, to leave Stybba behind. Dwarves might be best on their feet, but Stybba could have considerably lessened the time it took Gimli to reach Herthdale. What might be happening there, what was Legolas enduring, while Gimli walked these roads?

That night Gimli dreamed of Legolas. In his dreams the elf he loved was curled up on a low couch, arms wrapped around his knees like an unloved child, whimpering. Gimli tried to reach out to him but Legolas struck at him, reaching out and clawing his garments with fingernails grown more like claws. The dream-Legolas was bright as a star and terrible to look at, yet he insisted Gimli do so while he gave voice to all the hideous claims of Gimli's conscious. "Look at me," the elf cried, raining down accusations upon the dwarf's head. "If you had only come after me. If you had only gotten here a day sooner, this wouldn't have happened to me!" And he cast himself down dead upon the couch.

Gimli woke weeping and shuddering long before dawn had touched the sky. He was several miles further along in his journey by the time the sun finally cleared the tips of the hills and poured light into the valley.

It took Gimli five days to get to Herthdale, and each night when he stopped he had those dreams. By the time he finally arrived someplace he recognized from Billy's description, he was decidedly the worse for wear. He worried that if it came to a fight, he wouldn't be able to defend Legolas.

At first, in his anger, Gimli had assumed that he would simply charge the brothel and break Legolas out of there. He would fling his axes at anyone stupid enough to get in his way, making a path of dead slave owners straight for his friend's door. But while his anger had not cooled, time and weariness had forced him to rethink. Even if he could easily find the brothel Chezner owned, there was no reason to think he kept his illegal slaves in the same place. And Gimli would be outnumbered. As much as he felt that Legolas deserved an all-out attack with the dwarven battle cry ringing in the air, his common sense insisted that stealth would serve him best in this matter.

In the end, what made the decision was what was most likely to aide Legolas. Gimli had a dwarf's pride, which resented any course of action that would not lead to a full-fledged battle with this scum. But he also had a dwarf's heart, which once committed could never act in any way but for the good of his beloved. In the end it was this that won out. Dying gloriously in battle would not save Legolas.

And, Gimli consoled himself, he could always come back to seek vengeance later, after Legolas was out of harm's way and with an army behind him. He was certain Eomer would be enraged to hear what had been taking place on the borders of his lands, and Aragorn would not be keen on the operation either. All Gimli had to do was lead them to this place to see that justice would be served.

But that still left Gimli with the problem of finding the right place and getting his elf out. Every fiber of his being rebelled against the thought of playing a potential customer, yet he could think of no better way to infiltrate the careful security Chezner seemed to have created around his operation. In the end he decided to go to the inn Billy had told him about and take a look around before deciding on a course of action.

Herthdale was a much larger town than Gimli would have anticipated, here in the Dunlands as it was. Even so, the sight of a dwarf was not sufficiently common to prevent people from staring at him as he clumped down the road. Gimli ignored their stares; he found himself instead surreptitiously scanning the buildings around him, looking at their upper floors and basements, wondering; could Legolas be inside one of these buildings? Was he walking past him right now?

/Wherever you are, I'll find you/ he thought grimly. /I won't leave here without you./


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four 

The door opening--it was a sound that had long ago gained the power to awaken Legolas, no matter how deeply he was asleep. Sometimes the sudden snap from running free and contented through the Greenwood to finding himself back in this hated room, this cell, could be physically painful. But no matter how much Legolas would have liked to let his spirit stay disconnected from his body while they did things to him, centuries of training as a warrior insisted that he be present, that he use any opportunity to fight or resist. Not that those were common these days, not now, not after...however long it had been.

Legolas was unable to turn his head to see who had entered. His whole body tensed in anticipation of a painful touch or invasion. But the person came around, not touching him, to where he could see her. A woman--no, a girl. Girls didn't mean trouble, usually. She was holding something in her hands, a bowl that gave off steam. Legolas tried to think if he had seen her before.

The girl knelt before Legolas and clumsily tried to feed him what was in the bowl. Legolas felt the hot liquid dribbling out the corners of his mouth. The girl had a yeasty smell on her. She didn't smell or feel like danger, and that was as far as Legolas could make himself be aware of. He knew he ought to know her, but he didn't.

"Please eat," the girl whispered. "Please swallow." Legolas swallowed automatically for a few mouthfuls, but lost interest quickly. Eating usually meant throwing up. And since he was usually chained into place these days, he could not clean up after himself when he did. It could be hours before someone came into his room and cleaned the mess away. And if it was a customer who found it they would sometimes be so offended they would withdraw their business. For a little while Legolas had tried deliberately throwing up, but soon enough the punishment had begun to outweigh any momentary reprieve he might gain for himself. It just wasn't worth it. Lately eating, too, had become not worth it.

"Come on, Finmal," the girl said, a hint of desperation in her voice. "Just swallow."

Finmal--that was what they called him here. Not the men, not the abusers. The men just called him "Elf," as though he was the only Elf that had ever existed. The other captives, though--they all gave each other nicknames that they could speak when no one else was around. One of them spoke the elder tongues and had given Legolas a nickname in his own language. Legolas tried to remember what they called the girl feeding him, but all he could seem to think of was the soup, sort of runny and tasting of carrots. Thinking about it made him swallow a few more times, though, and the girl seemed pleased.

Why was she the one feeding him? It must be morning, or early afternoon. Yes, there was light creeping into the room, filtering through the dust motes. Light usually meant safety, but not always. Not always.

Legolas' thoughts drifted away again. If they didn't, he would find himself thinking about what had happened last night, or about what was going to happen tonight. Sometimes he thought it didn't happen every night, and sometimes he did, and sometimes he wasn't sure. But it happened enough.

It was bad enough to live through it; he couldn't endure to think about it for long. Vaguely, vaguely he seemed to remember fighting harder at the beginning, nearly dying. He occasionally wondered if he had died, or why he hadn't, but would lose his train of thought before he could get very far. All he knew now was that cold metal meant he didn't need to fight.

When there was metal circling his wrists and ankles and neck, or when there was an iron bar forcing his legs apart, or a harness around his shoulders and waist. Then it was time to hang limp, somewhat relieved that it was over, that he wasn't responsible for what was happening anymore. Then it was time to disappear to the Greenwood with the knowledge that he had done his best to fight it. But when there was no metal, that was when he became angry. Who did these people think they were? When there was no restraint, he would strike out in any way he could. He thought he could remember killing someone, at one point. In the beginning, it must have been, before they learned. Even now they would sometimes try to take him without restraining him first. Legolas made sure they always regretted it.

Except--except for that time, a while ago, not too long. Without being tied down but so many men he couldn't...had it happened more than once? He couldn't remember.

That had been the worst. Without restraints he fought, but it was like they became human restraints. Someone holding his arms and someone holding each leg while someone entered him, then they would switch, and he would be twisting and fighting beneath it but it was never enough, too much. And then a voice, "See, I told you he'd fight us this way." Smug. At some point it had occurred to Legolas that they wanted him to fight them, that he had only been provoked into acting in a way that gave them even more pleasure.

The thought made him wince, even now, and the girl pulled the spoon out of his mouth. "Do you have a sore, Finmal?" she asked kindly. Sometimes the captives got sores in their mouths from biting their lips to keep from screaming, or from stretching their lips too wide or from something the men had put in. This girl had dried blood in the corners of her mouth. "Show me where it is and I'll stay away from it." Legolas did not have a sore, so he did nothing. After a moment, the girl sighed and resumed spooning the liquid into his mouth.

Legolas could not recall how long it had been since the world had stopped making sense. In some part of his brain he was vaguely aware that something was different, that his whole spirit was not residing in his body--only vaguely. Everything was vague these days.

And maybe it was better that way.

"Please," the girl said, and Legolas realized the warm carroty liquid was spilling out his mouth and down his front again. "Just swallow. Just a few more swallows."

Swallow--something about swallowing, and this girl. No, not swallowing, swallows. Swallow, lark, thrush, dove. Dove. That was what they called her.

Legolas smiled at her, relieved that he could remember. He tried to speak, which he didn't do much anymore. "Cugu," he said softly.

Dove smiled weakly back at him. She didn't understand that he had just spoken her name in Sindarin. It wasn't her, then, that had given him the name Finmal. Legolas stirred restlessly, trying to make himself understood, trying to let her know he remembered her. "Cugu," he murmured again. Even though he knew the Westron word, his lips would not form it.

Dove smiled again, and then she reached out to caress his hair. Legolas reacted instinctively. His hands were chained to either side of his head and he didn't have great reach with his arms, but Dove was close enough for him to strike the side of her head. She was light enough that the clumsy blow sent her heavily to the ground; the bowl went flying and the rest of the soup slopped out onto the rushes.

Legolas felt remorse when he saw what he had done. Even the remorse, though, was distant, as though he was viewing a stranger's mourning. She should not have touched him, it was true, not in his situation. But he should not have struck her, either. "Forgive me," he murmured as Dove lifted herself up, dashing quick tears from her eyes.

Dove smiled at him, and this time the smile was a little more genuine, not quite so broken. "That's the first Westron you've spoken in months, you know," she said. "It gives me hope."

Legolas did not like the word hope. It reminded him of someone, though he couldn't think who or why. Easier to forget it, now. Dove was looking at the floor with sadness in her large dark eyes. "Now you've gone and spilled dinner, Finmal." She spoke in a sing-song voice, as one speaks to a babe, trying to interest but not really expecting an answer. "And I don't know where I'll find more for you. But you've got to eat more than you do. Please try not to spill it next time," she finished sadly.

Legolas tried to tell her that he was not interested in eating, it made him throw up. But the words got lost in between his thoughts and his tongue. At first it had just been the mistreatment of his body that had made his stomach rebel so; then, when he lost his strength, the morning sickness had begun.

"Finmal," Dove said again, looking at him with pleading eyes. "Please. Your baby needs you to eat. You need to be strong for that baby."

/What need has this baby to come into the world/ Legolas thought sadly. /What welcome would it find from these men? I have betrayed it by conceiving it. Better if I don't eat. Better if this child can return to Eru before its spirit has joined its body./

Dove went back to the door. "I'll come back after the customers tonight," she said, voice shaking slightly on the word 'customers.' "I think I can find you some bread. Please don't kick anybody tonight, Finmal. You know they beat us all when you do that."

Yes, Legolas knew. Dove shut the door. Legolas found himself back in the Greenwood, enjoying the sunlight filtering down through the leaves. These days it felt like he wasn't just wandering without aim but rather was searching for someone, someone he had lost. Someone who was looking for him also. He wondered if they would ever find each other, here under the Greenwood. Wondered if he would ever take his hand and go running through the forests together, take him to the forests, wasn't there a forest I was supposed to show you?

But he could never find the other. No matter what he did, he never saw who it was that wandered in his dreams, that was trying to find him. And as time went by he found himself caring less and less, whether they would ever find one another or not. Whether their paths would cross, or they would continue in parallel circles until he finally lost all his strength and laid down by a crystal pool, aware that the other was near, so near. But unable to reach him; unable to cry out to him, to touch him, to see him and finally know his face.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five 

Gimli sat in a dark corner of the Cat and Cheese Inn, staring moodily at his target. The man the innkeeper had identified as Chezner was of medium height and scrawny build; his hair was sparse and graying, and his face bore a toughened scar above the left eye. Chezner was currently sitting at a table on the opposite end of the inn with three men. Two were burly types sitting opposite him, obviously doing some kind of business--Gimli did not like to think what kind--and the third was a boy, also thin but looking very menacing, who had not yet left Chezner's side. It was clear that his purpose was to act as a bodyguard, and it was that which had given Gimli his idea.

Now he was simply waiting for a chance to speak. As soon as Chezner had entered the inn's common room several men had gone up to speak with him, and the two with him now had been there for some time. They were exchanging dour glances with each other and were clearly unhappy with the way things were going. Chezner, by contrast, was the classic picture of confidence, leaning back with his arms spread and looking aloofly down his nose at his companions.

Gimli shifted restlessly, wishing that they would hurry up. The sun was setting outside, and he wished to get Legolas out of here this night. Finally, when his patience was wearing thin, the men shook hands with Chezner and left the table, looking unsatisfied. Gimli wasted no time. He got to his feet, bringing his tankard of ale with him, and crossed the room.

He sat down across the table from Chezner without preamble, or any attempt to introduce himself. Intimidation was a big factor in the game he was now playing, and he mustn't seem unsure of himself.

Chezner blinked at him, lazily. "Yes?"

Gimli was fighting a strong desire to remove the man's fingernails, individually, followed by his vital organs. "I'm looking for work," he said bluntly.

Chezner blinked again, looking like nothing so much as an over-grown, over-confident cat. "And what makes you believe I can help you, dwarf?"

It would be so easy--to reach across the table and wring his neck. _Later_, Gimli promised himself. "I know what kind of business you run," Gimli said in a low voice. "The, ah 'wares from Berkand' not withstanding. I can understand how a man in your position might sometimes have trouble keeping those wares in line. Or by chance you get an unruly customer one night." Gimli placed his hands around his ale mug, making sure his biceps were displayed as he did so. "I can help you there. Certainly better than the scrawny lad you've got guarding your back right now." The boy narrowed his eyes to slits. _Yes, and I'll be coming back for you too, letting this go on_, Gimli thought, and returned the stare impassively.

Chezner pursed his lips, and ran one spidery hand along the stubble decorating his chin. "Where did you hear of my wares?" he asked.

"A friend," Gimli replied. "A man of some position. I'm sure you'll understand if I don't reveal his name."

Chezner nodded. "I understand. Well, Master Dwarf, there may be work for you. What kind of a wage would you expect?"

_Don't tell me it's this easy, _ Gimli thought dizzily. He named some figure off the top of his head, much too high. Chezner raised his eyebrows and countered with a sum barely enough to see to a goat's living needs, much less a dwarf's. Well aware Chezner would cease to regard him as worthwhile if he didn't argue, Gimli frowned and bickered and eventually made to get up and walk away from the table, sweating as he did so.

Fortunately, Chezner stopped him with a hand on his arm, and became more amenable; soon after they settled on a wage. Not that Gimli intended to be there to collect any of it, but it was important Chezner believed he was doing it for the money. Chezner offered his hand to seal the agreement, and Gimli ground his teeth together to avoid flinching as he took it. Perhaps he squeezed a little harder than was necessary.

Chezner then glanced around the room. "Well, Blain, it doesn't look as if there's anything here that requires my immediate attention. Stay here and direct anyone who comes this evening, and I'll go show our new dwarf around the establishment."

Blain nodded, clearly displeased to be left behind. Chezner rose and Gimli followed him; the man put a companionable arm around his companion's shoulders as they exited the inn into the gathering dusk. Gimli fought hard not to flinch. The touch sent shivers of revulsion down his spine.

"Have you worked in an establishment such as mine before?" Chezner queried as they headed down the dusty road.

Gimli answered evasively. "I've done a little bit of every kind of work under the sun in my life. This work is certainly not strange to me."

Chezner seemed pleased with this answer. "Well, you've come across me at an advantageous time, dwarf," he said. It occurred to Gimli that Chezner had not yet asked for his name, nor did he seem to intend to. "One of my bully boys got into a nasty fight with a customer a week ago and broke his leg. Damned useless. So I'm giving you a break, but I'm telling you straight out--this job isn't license to play around with the girls. You'll pay for it like any other customer if you want to sample the wares."

Gimli gathered up all his loathing for this man and spat onto the road. "Dwarves have no lust for any other than their own kind," he rumbled, bitterly aware of the irony of making that claim when it was his love for Legolas that had brought him here. "I won't be giving you any trouble."

"Glad to hear it. Here we are." Chezner lead Gimli up to a medium-sized, two story building. Even though dusk had just barely fallen, a few men were already going in and out the door. The curtains were all tightly drawn.

Inside the front door, Gimli found himself in a sleazy excuse for a parlor. Numerous couches lined the walls, with several girls and one boy in various states of undress on them, who looked up and then away with disinterest when they realized Gimli was an employee and not a customer. "This is where the girls hook 'em," Chezner announced blandly, then with a wink and a nod he added, "Boys too. I got something for every taste."

Gimli swallowed firmly against everything he wanted to say to that, and managed a noncommital nod. Hand still on his Gimli's shoulder, Chezner propelled him across the room and opened a door which proved to lead into a dim hallway with three doors on each side of it. "Those are the fucking rooms," Chezner said, looking at Gimli out of the corner of his eye. Gimli did not react to the coarse language.

Chezner led Gimli to a second door from the main parlor, and into a smallish room that Gimli could only assume was the center of operation for the whores and bullymen who lived and worked there. It seemed to be part kitchen, part dressing room, and part smoking den. There was a rickety staircase disappearing through the ceiling in one corner. A large man was leaning against the far wall, smoking a pipe and looking at Gimli from under hooded lids. A girl was huddled in another corner, using tiny fingers to repair one of the lavish costumes the prostitutes wore. Chezner snarled at her, and with a pout she got up and disappeared into the front room.

Chezner showed Gimli a cabinet on the north wall, which when opened proved to hold seven keys of various sizes and metals. "These are for the pets," he said. "You know, the 'wares from Berkand,'" he added with a leer.

Gimli nodded, his fingers clenching like they would around his axe.

"When a customer wants a go with one of those," Chezner said, "you get me or Faron there to find the right key and open the door up for 'em. When you've proved yourself trustworthy, I'll show you which key goes with which pet so you can do it yourself," he added, smiling condescendingly. "We keep them upstairs."

Gimli broke out into a sweat. He immediately lost track of what Chezner was saying. Right now, right above his head--Legolas. His head was buzzing. After all this time and all his searching, to be so close they were breathing the same air. Gimli could almost swear he could feel the Elf's presence, tangible and real, right above him.

His attention was brought back to the outside world by a girl coming down the stairs. She was terribly frail, and her eyes were wide in her bony face. She was carrying a wooden bowl and spoon carefully in her hands. She looked up as she came in, and Gimli did not miss the flinch of fear on her face when she saw Chezner.

"Did he eat?" Chezner asked brusquely.

The girl nodded, and quickly siddled past Chezner to get a rag to clean the bowl with, trembling. "That's one of my pets right there," Chezner said proudly to Gimli. Gimli felt his blood begin to boil. "Now, she and one of the other girl-pets are the only ones allowed to move around. The other one's no bigger than a mouse, looks like she'll break apart any second, so you'll recognize her when you see her. The rest of them harrass the customers or try to run off if we let them free, so we keep them locked in their rooms. You won't need to interact with 'em much at first. Just know if you see any of the others out of their rooms, something's wrong."

Gimli nodded, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. He hadn't realized--well, he supposed it had crossed his mind but he hadn't allowed it to really sink in--that there were other victims here, that it wasn't just Legolas who needed rescuing. Looking at the poor big-eyed girl made Gimli hate Chezner all over again. They all deserved to be rescued, and yet there was no way he could get them all out by stealth. Even if he managed to free them enough to fight, if this girl was anything to go by they would never be able to fight their way past Chezner's bully boys and the prostitutes. Gimli's stomach cramped again as he wondered how much muscle Legolas might have lost while he was in here, how weak his love might have become.

Chezner, he realized, had been talking again, and he had not been paying attention. He managed to grasp the last bit-- "Faron and I will be out front tonight. You just watch and try to get the hang of things, and I'll find you a spot tomorrow."

Gimli nodded dumbly, and the big man tapped out his pipe and followed Chezner back into the parlor. Gimli was left alone with the girl.

"What's your name, lass?" he asked gently.

The girl only stared at him, eyes almost dead but with a hint of malice lurking inside them. She looked at him blankly for a moment, then resumed washing the dish.

"Please, I don't want to hurt you," Gimli said. All his thoughts had suddenly narrowed down to one--this girl might know which door Legolas was behind, which key would free him. He had to get her to trust him. "What do they call you?"

"That's a different question," the girl said in a clipped tone. "They call me Cindy, or at least the men do. I don't tell my real name to people like you."

The accusation of those simple words cut cleanly through Gimli, and he found himself leaning forward, wanting to touch the girl but knowing it would be anything but comforting if he did. "Listen," he said in a hoarse whisper. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. An elf, a beautiful golden elf. Somebody told me I could find him here. I want to take him away from this place."

There was a brief shimmer of shock in Cindy's eyes as Gimli spoke, but it had been replaced by contempt by the time he uttered the last word. "Oh, you're really something," she snarled low in her throat. "You just want to have him without having to pay Chezner for it, and you think I'm going to let you into the room." She turned her back furiously.

Gimli controlled his instinct to reach out and shake her. "No, please, you must believe me. He's a friend of mine, from before the war. His name is Legolas."

Cindy did not turn around, but her furious cleansing motions slowed. "I don't know his real name," she admitted hesitantly.

"Legolas Thranduilion. Ask him. Ask him anything," Gimli pleaded desperately. "He knows me."

The girl looked at him over her shoulder, and the look she gave him was half contempt and half sadness. "Ask him?" she repeated softly. "It wouldn't do any good."

A hole began to open in Gimli's heart. "Why not?"

"He doesn't speak anymore," the girl said bitterly. "Or at least not in words I can understand. He left a long time ago. Only his body remains."

Grief poured into the hole in Gimli, but instead of filling it the girl's words only made it bigger. "Take me to him," he whispered brokenly.

Cindy shook her head firmly. "You can't do anything." There was an edge of contempt in her voice.

Anger now filled the pit, boiling hot. Gimli restrained himself from attacking the girl--it was not her fault, she was a victim too--but his voice became low and savage. "Listen," he hissed. "I am going to find my friend. You can make it easier; you can give me the key to his room, or I can chop it down. But I'm telling you, I will not let him stay here another single night. I'm going to get him out of here whether you help me or not."

"What are you going to do, take on all the men in the town single-handedly?" she demanded.

"If I have to. Death is certainly preferrable to what Legolas is enduring."

"And what about you?"

"Death is preferable to knowing what Legolas is enduring."

The girl studied him seriously. Gimli felt he was close to winning her over. "What can I do to make you believe me?"

There was a pause; then Cindy spoke in a quiet, solemn voice. "If you were truly Finmal's friend...how close were you?"

"Very close," Gimli said hoarsely.

"Can you describe the scar he has on his back to me?"

"There is a scar along his spine about a handsbreadth above his waist," Gimli replied. "It goes diagonally across the spine from left to right. He got it in a spider hunt," he added, trailing off. She had not asked that.

"And the other one?"

Gimli frowned. "There is no other on his back."

The girl let out a deep breath. "There was no other one, you mean," she corrected softly. "Before he came here. But if you were trying to deceive me for some reason, if someone had given you a description, you wouldn't have known that." She looked at him, her forehead crinkling. "How did you ever find him?"

Gimli could not think what to say; relief was sweeping through him, making him shake so badly he wanted to sit down. "I never gave up hope," he finally managed.

Cindy glanced at the door leading to the parlor; there was urgency in her face and in her voice when she spoke. "Go upstairs; there's a back stairwell that leads directly outside. Take him out through that. I'll give you a few minutes, then I'll create a distraction in the other room to give you some time."

Gimli looked at her with wonder. "I wish--" he started hesitantly. "If there was a way to get you all out, I--"

Cindy shook her head briskly. "No, it's not possible. If one of us can get out I'm glad it's Finmal. You must hurry to get him to safety; I think he's dying." She walked quickly to the cabinet and, opening it, selected a small gold key and pressed it into Gimli's hand. "Second door on the right."

Gimli closed his hand over hers when she would have withdrawn it. "I'll come back," he said. "When Legolas is safe. I will bring my friends back with me and we will put an end to this, I swear to you."

For the first time in their conversation, tears glistened in the girl's eyes. "Don't swear," she whispered. "It only makes it worse. Now go, save your friend." She gave him a push towards the stairs, and smiled a little broken smile. "Two minutes."

Swallowing, Gimli grasped the tiny key in his palm firmly and began to ascend the rickety staircase, which wound in a circle to reach the upper floor. He tried not to think about what Cindy might have to do to create a distraction; he just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

The upstairs was dimly lit by sconces in the walls; a narrow hallway had doors on either side of it like below, only these doors stared accusingly at Gimli. He went straight to the second door on the right and fit the key into the lock.

The room was much darker than in the hallway, and for a moment Gimli could not see anything. He hastily closed the door behind him. Directly in front of him his eyes began to make out a low couch, empty except for a small bit of cloth. Then he heard low, steady breathing coming from his right.

He turned, and his search was at an end.

A figure barely recognizable as Legolas was kneeling in the corner, naked, his back to Gimli. His wrists were bound with manacles attached to ropes that stretched up to the ceiling, pulling his arms taut above his head. There were also manacles on his ankles, but they were unattached to anything. The elf was not given quite enough slack on the ropes to be able to kneel comfortably on the ground, but he had drawn his legs up tightly underneath him and had managed to take some of the tension off his arms. Legolas's head was resting against one arm, his golden hair a tangled mess across his back. His skin was pale and marred with many angry red marks, and stretched tightly over his bones. If it had not been for the steady breathing that had attracted his attention in the first place, Gimli would not have been certain he was alive.

"Legolas," he whispered hoarsely. There was no movement.

Remembering what the girl had said about his soul having departed, Gimli lurched forward. He saw Legolas's shoulders tense slightly, and realized the elf was at least aware someone was in the room with him. "Legolas, it's me." He gingerly laid one hand on the elf's shoulder, trembling at the longed-for contact. Legolas did not react. "Legolas, it's Gimli. I've come to get you out."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"Legolas, it's me." He gingerly laid one hand on the elf's shoulder, trembling at the longed-for contact. Legolas did not react. "Legolas. It's Gimli. I've come to get you out."

At last, a response. Slowly and stiffly, Legolas turned his head back, eyes dully searching until they came across Gimli's and their gazes locked.

The look in Legolas's eyes struck him cold with its similarity to the girl's downstairs. So many things radiated in that gaze: hostility and anger, fear and caution, and a cold sort of judging--a tenseness, the readiness to flee. All of it blanketed by the dim disinterest of someone who had seen too much. The only difference was that Legolas's eyes held a touch less fear and more hostility.

There was absolutely no sign that he recognized Gimli.

"Legolas, it's me," Gimli murmured in quiet despair, reaching out to touch Legolas's cheek.

Legolas's mobility was limited but he still reacted with Elven swiftness, moving as far away from Gimli's touch as was possible. Gimli realized his error instantly, and withdrew his hand. It was enough to break Gimli out of his slightly stunned state, and he remembered with sudden force that he had very little time. He fit the key into the manacle on Legolas's left wrist, talking as he worked it open. His words came spilling out faster and faster, filling the empty space where Legolas did not speak and did not recognize him. "Legolas, I'm going to get you out of here. It's okay. I'm going to take you back to Edoras and then they will come and destroy this place. You have friends there that will hunt these people down and murder them. You're not going to stay here another night, not now that I've found you."

Legolas's breathing grew quick and slightly ragged, but he remained comatose--he did not look at Gimli as the dwarf released his left arm and laid it gently on the Elf's lap, afraid Legolas would just let the limb drop. Gimli had freed the right arm and was reaching for the manacles on his friend's ankles when Legolas struck.

Gimli had trained as a warrior for years, and instinct completely took over when Legolas attacked him. His mind didn't catch up with his body until they were both on the ground, himself on top, pinning Legolas effectively to the ground. Threat neutralized, he looked blankly at the thin wrists his hands were encircling easily, wrists he could have held in one hand, and realized he never would have won that skirmish if Legolas had been in his full health. Legolas was breathing heavily and Gimli could feel a small, hard protrusion in Legolas' stomach, causing him frantic worry that his Elf was ill. "Legolas, it's me!" he hissed furiously, desperately. "We don't have time for this! I have to get you out of here."

Legolas stared up at him with that same veiled look, not struggling for the moment but hatred very clear in his eyes. Gimli wracked his brains for some way to make Legolas recognize him, at least to the point where he would stop attacking.

"Do you remember Lorien?" he asked in a harsh whisper. Maybe reminding Legolas of a time before this horror had taken place would help break through the confusion and fear between them. "Do you remember the Fellowship? Aragorn and Gandalf and Boromir, and all the little hobbits?" Saying names didn't seem to be helping, so Gimli tried a slightly different angle. "Do you remember us floating down the Anduin, you and me in the boat with all our gear and the others far ahead? Do you remember how we talked to each other then? Do you remember any of it?"

Legolas's breathing was slowing down. A glazed look was slowly replacing the hatred in his eyes; Gimli couldn't guess whether this was an improvement or not. "Remember, Legolas," he commanded softly, hoping that the repetition of the Elf's true name would jar Legolas out of this trance or daze or whatever it was that kept him from knowing Gimli.

Legolas blinked, his gaze suddenly focused clearly on Gimli. There was someone there. Not Legolas--not his friend, his love, the way he had been--but someone. Not an animal, a creature with no soul acting only in defense of a perceived threat.

"Legolas?" he asked softly.

Slowly, Legolas raised one hand. Gimli did not dare to breathe as Legolas gently touched the back of his hand to Gimli's cheek. "Gimli," he said softly.

The moment was broken by a crash and an uproar of male voices from the common room. Not daring to break eye contact, Gimli slowly released his pin on Legolas and held his hands out. With a vague look of wonder in his eyes, Legolas grasped the proffered hands and allowed Gimli to help him to his feet. Gimli glanced swiftly at the swelling low in the Elf's abdomen and frowned--but there was no time to worry about it now.

Gimli snatched the robe that was crumpled into one corner of the low couch and handed it to Legolas. It was made of a silky, flimsy material and wouldn't provide much shelter, but it was certainly better than nothing. While Legolas put it on with a easy, practiced movement Gimli undid the brooch on his Lothlorien cloak and handed it, too, to the Elf. Legolas took it with a look of wonder, fingering the fine Elven weave as he drew it on.

"Quickly," Gimli hissed, listening to the raised voices of the men downstairs. "We haven't much time." Fearful that Legolas would not follow of his own accord, he took the Elf's hand in his and drew him towards the door.

Legolas's hand was firm in Gimli's grasp and he did not resist the contact, but Gimli got the impression he would not have moved without aide. Once through the door Gimli took a precious moment to close and lock it behind them, hoping it would buy them time before their flight was discovered. Then he pulled the unresisting yet inactive Elf down the ominously dim hallway to a door at the end that could only lead to the outside stairwell Cindy had described to him.

He threw the door open and found himself looking down at a deserted street, almost completely shrouded in darkness now. Gimli instantly started down the none-too-stable staircase, but to his surprise he felt a resisting tug from his left arm. Legolas had stopped cold.

Legolas was staring back into the hallway they had just come from with a pained expression on his face. "Legolas, please, we must hurry!" Gimli pled in a whisper.

Legolas took three quick steps back into the hallway. Cursing whatever fey mood had grabbed the Elf, Gimli tightened his grip on Legolas's hand and prepared to dig his heels in.

Legolas came to a halt in front of one of the unassuming doorways, stroking the front with one hand. "Mellyn-nin," he said softly, his tone heartbreakingly sad.

Gimli recognized, from the password into Moria, that the elvish had something to do with friends. "Don't worry about them, Legolas," he whispered, trying to sound comforting and urgent at the same time. "We'll come back for them."

Legolas's reaction was violent. He turned swiftly to his companion, eyes widening in terror as he grabbed both of Gimli's hands in a grip like iron and shook his head frantically. He was trying to speak, but all that was coming out was a thick choking sound as the veins in his neck bulged.

"No, no, you don't have to come back," Gimli reassured him hastily, realizing his error. "You don't have to come back here. Never again. I only meant that when we get out of here we'll send people back to free the others. Aragorn and Eomer--only please hurry, Legolas. We don't have time." He pulled hard on Legolas's hand, but the Elf still resisted. "Legolas. I swear to you, they will be rescued. But if you don't come with me now you and I stand a good chance of being killed, and the others will remain here. Please."

That finally seemed to get through to him. Legolas turned and refocused his attention on Gimli, not even needing to be pulled to follow Gimli out the door and down the outside staircase.

From outside you could not tell if anything was amiss inside the brothel, and Gimli prayed Cindy's distraction was still going on. He started to run down the street, away from the center of town, but Legolas lagged behind. Gimli glanced back and saw that his friend was trying to keep up but struggling, wincing as his bare feet came into contact with rocks in the road.

Gimli swore under his breath. After hunting the hobbits across the plains of Rohan it had gotten into Gimli's head that Legolas could run like the wind, anytime, anywhere. But even an Elf couldn't be expected to make this kind of escape on bare feet; not a weak, exhausted, and degraded Elf, at any rate.

Another option immediately presented itself to the Dwarf's mind, and though he didn't care for it he also didn't have time to spare. "Legolas." He guided his friend towards an apparently abandoned building and made Legolas conceal himself in the shadows, grateful for the Lady Galadriel's cloak. Gimli paused; in this state of mind, could he trust Legolas not to run off? The Elf was clearly not completely present in the moment; his expression was so vague that Gimli wasn't sure if Legolas even understood anything that was said to him. "Legolas," he said firmly. "Legolas, look at me. I need you to stay here." He realized he was speaking to Legolas as he would to a child, and it frustrated him, but he didn't know what else to do. Legolas was looking at him steadily, but he did not nodd or make any other affirmative action. "Legolas? You must not move from this spot. Do you understand me?"

Legolas nodded, but Gimli was still unsure. "You'll be here when I get back? You won't make a sound?"

"I understand, Gimli," Legolas said in his own light, clear tone. "I will not move."

Warmth spread through Gimli when he heard Legolas speak so coherently. "Good." He found himself unable to leave, even for these few minutes, without some kind of physical contact; so he reached out and cupped Legolas's face in his palm. Some part of his brain dimly noted the stark contrast between his tan, weathered fingers and Legolas's moonlight skin. "I'll be back soon," he whispered. He took off down the street a run, not daring to look back, not daring to think wistfully that there had once been a time when Legolas had not recoiled from his touch like he had just done.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

The stables at the Cat and Cheese Inn had an assortment of animals housed in them, all of them too tall for Gimli's liking. He grimaced in distaste at what he was about to do: he did not like horses, and he definitely did not like thieving, and yet he was about to become a horsethief. If only he had known if any of the beasts belonged to Chezner or his fellows, then he could have rescued another abused slave, albeit an animal one. As it was, he went after a medium-sized black horse that looked very placid. He was certain that if the horse tried to bolt on him, he wouldn't be able to control it.

A quick knock to the back of the head was all that was needed to take care of the teenaged boy who was in the stables, apparently there to guard the horses. Gimli caught him before he could fall and lowered him gently to the ground--no need to leave the lad with any more bruises than necessary.

Gimli tried not to let his nervousness show as he took the black's reins and tugged it forward. He could remember Legolas lightly chastising him once, when they both rode on Arod, for being so afraid. "Your fear is affecting Arod," he had told Gimli gently. "He feels it, and so he is also afraid."

Gimli must have learned the lesson well. The horse shook its head a few times, filling him with fear, but it did follow him even if it was reluctantly, showing no signs of bolting. Gimli's next greatest fear was that someone on the street would recognize him, or the horse, and realize that they didn't belong together. But with darkness the streets appeared to have emptied, and no one intercepted him on his way back to Legolas.

A prickle of fear made its way into Gimli's chest when he could not see anything in the alcove he had made Legolas conceal himself in--but then, that was the point. "Legolas?" he called out softly, hardly daring to raise his voice higher than a whisper. "Legolas, it's me." Damn those elvish cloaks--he couldn't tell if Legolas had fled or not.

Then a blond head poked out from the shadows, and Gimli could breathe again. Legolas took a few hesitant steps forward; then something seemed to change in his attitude and he fairly flew to the horse, grasping its head and murmuring in Elvish. Gimli tried not to be irked at having received a less affectionate greeting than the horse. He opened his mouth to tell Legolas to get up on the horse, but found he didn't need to: Legolas had already seated himself. He held down a hand for Gimli; a tingle went through Gimli's spine as he accepted the aide. It was the same maneuver they had performed on Arod, like the last year had not happened at all. Gimli even entertained a fleeting wish that when he woke the next morning he would find he had been dreaming. He would endure the uncertainty of winning the war rather than the certainty of Legolas's pain.

Legolas kneed the horse forward, and as ever with Elves the animal replied as though it had been its own thought. "No, lad, not this way," Gimli said hastily, realizing Legolas was heading for the north way out of town when Edoras was south of here. Legolas tossed once glance back over his shoulder, his fair visage confused and more than a little panicked. Wondering at his boldness, Gimli threaded his arms Legolas's waist to take the reins out of his hands. "Let me get us on the right road to Edoras, then we can let the animal run.

Gimli did not miss the way every muscle in the Elf's body became tense as a drawn bowstring when his arms encircled his friend's waist, but fortunately Legolas did not attempt to throw him off the horse. Gimli was well aware that in this fey mood Legolas might become incapable of differing between friend and foe.

Legolas sat rigidly as Gimli attempted to see around his shoulder and maneuver the animal. He had ridden ponies before and was confident in his handling of the reins, but the horse seemed in no mood to take direction from anyone but the Elf. It was sidestepping nervously, feeling to Gimli like it was getting ready to bolt.

"Legolas, can you calm this thing down?" he hissed into his companion's ear. "Tell it it's okay."

Obediently, Legolas leaned down and murmured a bit of Elvish to the animal. "Noro, beinil. Estelio nin." And immediately, the horse gentled and began to accept Gimli's urging it to the south of the city.

As they circled back past the brothel, an action made necessary by Legolas's taking the horse off in the wrong direction, Gimli felt Legolas grow even stiffer against him. The building was deceptively quiet. He felt Legolas's thighs tense as though he would spur the horse on, and spoke frantically to him. "Legolas, do not cause the horse to run! We may not have been discovered yet, but if this thing goes cantering through the city at full speed we will be. Please, trust me. Wait until we get outside the city."

Legolas was quivering, but he remained unmoving as the horse trotted obediently towards the trade road that Gimli knew would take them back to Edoras, eventually. But the second they passed the last small hut on the very ends of the town, Legolas lost his control. Gimli felt the Elf's thighs shift as his heels dug into the side of his mount, and he breathed "Drego!" into the animal's ear.

Instantly the horse was off, and Gimli had to close his arms convulsively around Legolas's waist to keep from falling off. Gimli heard Legolas make an unhappy noise low in his throat, as the Elf's hands simultaneously tried to take the reins from Gimli's and disengage Gimli's arms from around him. Still out of breath from the suddenness with which the horse had taken off, Gimli surrendered the reins easily, aware that nothing he could do now would stop Legolas from fleeing, or slow him in his flight. Thinking it would be less stressful on his Elf, he moved his grip to Legolas's arms; but Legolas fought this even harder, threatening to upset them both. "Legolas, stop!" Gimli cried. "Stop fighting me. I have to hold onto somewhere to keep my balance, I'm sorry!" He grabbed the Elf's waist again, trying to keep his grip as noninvasive as possible. Legolas calmed slightly at the subtle difference in the hold Gimli had adopted this time; his hands held Legolas's waist lightly, as opposed to his arms being wrapped around and his hands meeting over the Elf's stomach. Legolas threw a look over his shoulder, and Gimli honestly couldn't tell whether it was made up of reproach or apology. Then Legolas turned forward and was urging the horse on again.

Gimli let him. The trickiest part of their escape was over now, but he held no illusions about their safety. As soon as they came to a major crossroads, they would have to send the horse back and abandon the road entirely to obscure their tracks. Two leagues outside of Herthdale there was a major meeting of three well-travelled roads, near one of the lesser peaks of the jkl;jl;kjl;kj;l mountains. Legolas and Gimli would disappear into the forest and lie low in a grotto or cave for a few days while the men Chezner had hired to find them puzzled over the end of the horse's tracks and try to guess which one of five directions the Elf and Dwarf might have escaped to.

All of this was improvised in Gimli's head as they cantered away from the hated town. He was well aware that he was flying by the seat of his pants; this had to be the most hastily and sloppily planned escape in this Age, if not in the whole history of Middle-Earth. But he had meant what he had said to that girl, Cindy or whatever the name had been: he would not stand for Legolas to be abused in that place even one more night. If they made it now, so much the better. If they were caught and Gimli could tell there was no chance of winning out against them, he would kill Legolas with his own axe, and then himself. Death was preferable to what Legolas had endured, and Gimli was confident Legolas would rather die than go back.

There were no signs of pursuit as they cantered down the almost empty roadway. Those few people they did pass were all going in the other direction, and only had time to glance in surprise at the double-burdened horse as it sailed past them. Gimli hoped both that they would not be questioned too forcefully by Chezner and his men and that none of them would be able to give any useful information. When he saw the crossroad coming up in the distance, Gimli tugged on Legolas's cloak to get him to slow the animal.

They had not spoken all through their wild flight, not since Gimli had explained that he needed to hold onto Legolas to keep his balance. Legolas had not looked back at him since then, either, though his body was still very tense from the continual contact with Gimli's. Now Legolas looked back over his shoulder, a frown creasing his forehead.

"Slow the horse, lad," Gimli said in a calm tone. "We need to stop at the crossroads."

Legolas cast a worried glance at the road behind them. "We're not bein' followed," Gimli reassured him, wondering at how quickly he was becoming adept at reading the Elf's new body language. _Not being followed yet, at any rate._ Riders had probably already set out after them, but they were a good way behind and there was no reason to remind Legolas of that. Gimli was fairly certain if he did, he would be unable to get the Elf to stop. "Stop the horse at the crossroads and I'll tell you the rest of my plan."

Facing forward again, Legolas began easing the animal down from its canter. Gimli let out a long breath--so far, the Elf was listening to him.

When they had reached the crossroads, Legolas had brought the horse to a very slow walk, and finally he stopped it completely. Gimli immediately jumped off the horse, not caring that he stumbled as he hit the ground. Anything over a few moments on a horse was too long for him, and he estimated they had been riding for close to two hours now. Legolas dismounted with more grace, seeming to flow off of the horse, but when he took on his own weight again he bent over slightly, hands on his thighs.

The horse nickered slightly and nudged Legolas's shoulder. Obviously already a life-long friend. Well, there was no help for it. Gimli could disguise his and Legolas's trail but there was no masking a horse's prints--or if there was Gimli, a dwarf, did not know how to do it. And Legolas was not in any condition to.

Legolas seemed much calmer now that they were outside the city, but still not himself. Gimli did not miss how Legolas stood close to the horse, ready to bolt if he should feel threatened. "Legolas," he said in his calmest tone, "here's what I think we should do. We need to leave the road now, so that they can't follow us." A visible shudder went through Legolas at the words 'follow us.' "I also think we should send the horse back to the village now. He'll know the way."

"Ho nautha na-ho le," Legolas said softly to the horse, almost conversationally. The horse bobbed its head and nudged Legolas's shoulder again. Gimli had no idea what the Elf had just said, but it didn't sound like "go back to the village." He debated over his next words, but decided to risk it. "Legolas, please. We may not have the time to argue. Please trust me."

Whatever doubts might have been in the Elf's mind about sending the horse away, that quelled them. Legolas spoke quickly and softly to the horse. "Bad-amar, beinil. Hennaid evyr. Bad-amar si."

The horse responded instantly, rearing away from Legolas and cantering back down the road as if it had been told to flee. Legolas stared after it for a moment, then turned back to his companion, wrapping Gimli's Lorien cloak tighter about himself.

Gimli held out a hand to Legolas, but the Elf shied back, still looking ready to run. Gimli took a step back himself; he could not afford to frighten the Elf away. "Follow me."


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Finally, the new chapter! Please be forgiving folks, it's been a year since I've written in this fandom much less this story. Also, for those of you who are wondering, I do know that elves die when molested. See the little AU sign at the front of the story? Yeah. :)

Chapter Eight

It took what felt to Gimli like ages, but what he knew from the darkening of the sky had to be less than an hour to find an acceptable hiding spot: a small cave, dry and uninhabited by animals, and discreetly blocked from view by a large hawthorn bush.

Legolas was shivering by the time they found it, which worried Gimli greatly. He had not shivered on Caradharas; now, he held his arms tightly to himself and shuddered in weather Gimli found only mildly cold. Of course, his clothing--or lack thereof--wasn't helping. The elf still stepped gingerly on the soft forest floor, and pulled Gimli's cloak around him protectively.

Gimli led Legolas into the cave with soft words, assuring him repeatedly that it was safe, that no one would see him there, that he would be safe. Finally he managed to coax the elf inside.

Legolas crawled into the low-ceilinged cavern and sat down cross-legged, promptly drawing his arms tight around himself again. Watching him, Gimli held an interior debate over the pros and cons of a fire. On the one hand, there was no clearer way to say "here I am" to a tracker than to send a plume of smoke into the sky; on the other hand, Gimli seriously doubted that between the thick canopy of trees and the fact the fire would be within the cave, that they would be able to see anything. And Legolas clearly needed the warmth.

Legolas did nothing to help as Gimli gathered kindling and larger, slow-burning branches; he sat and watched with no trace of emotion on his face while Gimli built and then lit the fire, coaxing flame from the brittle wood.

After it was lit Gimli sat back for a moment, watching Legolas. Legolas looked only into the fire, showing no response to being under observation. The unseeing look in his friend's eyes frightened Gimli badly, so much that he began to feel that he could not look at it for a second longer. "Sleep, Legolas," he instructed softly.

Legolas blinked, and looked at him in mild surprise. Gimli's worry grew. "Sleep," he said again, firmly. "I will keep watch."

Gimli didn't know whether to be relieved or even more worried that Legolas did not resist him when he slid his travel pack over to serve as a pillow. Legolas lay down on his side, clutching the cloak around him as though he was still cold, and lay staring into the fire. He did not move; after a while Gimli thought he might have been asleep, but he could not tell. The elf's eyes were glassy, reflecting the light from the fire.

Gimli dozed a little through the night, sitting near the mouth of the cave, his axe resting in his lap. He didn't think they would be found--he didn't even know if they were still being pursued for certain--but it would not do to be careless. One of the times he jerked awake and looked over at Legolas, the elf's eyes had closed, and they remained closed through the rest of the night. For once Gimli understood the puzzling behavior; Legolas had slept with his eyes closed on the march to Pelargir, and when Gimli had worried aloud for his health Elrohir had informed him that if an elf was truly exhausted, their eyes would close in rest. It made Gimli think that Legolas had not been asleep before, but there was nothing he could do about that now except to resolve to let him sleep until he woke naturally. They wouldn't continue on their journey to Edoras for a few days at the least, giving any potential pursuers a chance to become discouraged and return home, so there was no reason not to let the elf rest as much as he could.

It was nearly midday the next day before either of them moved. Gimli glanced towards the embers of the fire when he heard stirring; he found Legolas rising into a sitting position, blinking and rubbing his eyes.

Gimli remained motionless, waiting for Legolas to discover his presence on his own. He did not feel like chasing the elf if Legolas took a fright and bolted. Before long, Legolas looked up, his face contorting in confusion.

"Gimli?" he said, softly but clearly.

Gimli's heart leapt. "Yes, it's me," he said softly.

Legolas' brow furrowed. After a moment, he said quietly, "I thought I was dreaming."

"No. It's real," Gimli assured him.

They stared at each other for a few minutes. Gimli was afraid to say anything else; Legolas appeared lucid, for the first time, and Gimli thought that any attempt to discuss where they were or what had happened might drive that lucidity off.

"How did you find me?" Legolas asked suddenly.

Gimli did not want to speak directly about Billy, so he answered half-truthfully. "I asked everyone I saw about you, and finally someone knew where you were."

"And the others?"

It took Gimli a moment to follow Legolas' train of thought. At first he thought Legolas meant the others he had asked, but the reproach in the Elf's voice caused him to remember how Legolas had been reluctant to leave the brothel last night, even through his obvious terror of it. "We'll save them all," he promised. "And see those who did this brought to justice."

But that proved too much for Legolas, thinking about "those who did this." He turned away abruptly, and when Gimli spoke his name he didn't respond.

After a period of silence, Gimli began haltingly to tell Legolas about his half-formed plans. Legolas reacted with alarm when Gimli mentioned leaving him, but Gimli held firm. "You can't go about in that cloak and without boots for any longer,' Gimli said. "You just can't travel that way. I will go find some clothing for you, I will be back, you don't have to see anybody."

"They'll find you." The first words he had spoken since asking about his friends.

"You must trust me, Legolas," Gimli said gently.

Legolas bowed his head. With some difficulty he said, "Go then."

"I will be back before sunset," Gimli promised, rising. "You can rely on that."

"Go."

Gimli started at the insistence in the Elf's voice, and wondered briefly if he was angry, if he felt abandoned. But there was no help for it. "I will be back," he vowed one more time, and then he left, praying as he did that Legolas would be there, both physically and emotionally, when he got back.


End file.
